Devil Mission
by Centroides
Summary: Their mission started badly then it got worse.


The Devil Mission

Garrison stood on the tarmac watching the sky. The wind ruffled the lapel of his flight jacket as he turned. The clouds had moved in quickly. The forecast had them holding off for a couple of hours but the wind had shifted and the ceiling was dropping. The mission was urgent so Command had given them the green light. The pilot of the Douglas C-47 Skytrain, Captain Testani, claimed to be unafraid which did not put Lieutenant Garrison's mind at rest. Any pilot who claimed to be unafraid was either lying or a fool. Neither boded well for the passengers.

The engines wound up as the men strapped in. Minutes later they began their taxi, the nose rose sharply then the ground dropped away. No one spoke but that was because of the roar of the twin 1200 horse power engines.

The first sign of trouble was a sudden drop in altitude. The second was the flash of lightning. Garrison, a trained pilot, knew they were safe inside the aircraft as long as the turbulence was not too severe. Lacking this knowledge, he saw the concern on the other's faces. Unfortunately the turbulence increased. Accompanying this was a change in the engine sound. They had lost an engine.

Garrison undid his seatbelt aiming to reassure his men but as he stood he faltered. The plane was listing. Grabbing any handhold he could find he headed for the navigator's station. He wanted to know how close they were.

As he neared the cockpit he saw the pilot's arm frantically working the controls. A step closer and he saw the pilot's nightmare. The dials were going crazy. The horizon was slowly vacillating; the Altitude Indicator showed them on the ground and according to the Air Speed Dial, they were accelerating. They were flying blind.

Now was not the time to disturb them so with one hand still holding the bulkhead he turned to go back to his seat. The floor dropped and he swung around to hold on with both hands. Suddenly there was a blinding flash and a boom. Garrison threw up his arm to protect his eyes as the wind blasted him in the face. The resulting loss of attachment threw him off balance and as he fell he felt the sting on his arm before he hit the floor. Moments later he struggled to his feet as the smell of ozone and something else assaulted his nose. The floor began to tilt again, nose down. Another flash and he saw the origin of the smell. The navigator was dead, his body blackened. He pushed his way into the wind even though he knew what he would find. The pilot and co-pilot were also dead. Lightning had hit the cockpit windscreen shattering it. The charge had killed the crew. How he had survived he didn't know. He was just glad he had.

Whipping around he headed for his men and the exit. They had to get off the plane before it crashed. Fortunately his team had figured out his destination and they headed for the door as well. He released the lock and pulled the door open. One by one the men jumped, vanishing into the black.

The plane lurched dislodging his grip, sliding him back onto the hold. As he watched the door swung shut. Throwing himself at the door he grabbed the mechanism and pulled. It was jammed. No matter what he tried he was locked in the plane and it was going down.

Actor hit the ground hard and was dragged through the brush before he was able to get his chute collapsed. He was soaked and the cold was making it hard to work his hands. Eventually he was able to gather up the silk and lines enough that he could move. On the way down he had watched for landmarks and knew he was coming down on what looked like farmer's field. From the stinging of his hands and face, the field must have been left fallow for some time. The weeds and brush had returned. Off to the left there should be a hedgerow. He might find some protection there so he headed that way.

Walking was difficult on the rough ground but when he reached his destination he shaded his eyes and watched the field intently. The others had to be here somewhere. The next flash struck so close that the flash and sound were simultaneous, the flash blinded him and the crack deafened him. He covered his eyes and waited for the pain to ease.

He wiped his eyes and looked out again. Nothing but blackness. He tried yelling but with the rain and wind he knew it was futile. He called again out of desperation. He was alone. Desperate for shelter he slowly made his way along the hedge still keeping an eye on the field. He hoped they were in the next field somewhere.

As he moved he saw a light ahead. Maybe it was his team mates. He whistled their call sign and was rewarded by the light turning his way. The silhouette behind the light was the right size but then the barrel of an MP 40 Submachine gun appeared and he knew he was in trouble. Dressed as a civilian he spoke in French explaining he had been thrown by his horse and got turned around in the rain.

"Hände hoch."

Actor complied and was herded to a waiting truck. Minutes later he was told to dismount and directed to walk down the street. The buildings were mostly intact though there were a few dark shops; their front windows had been smashed. The rain continued, running down the streets, pooling in the gutters. Even the flags hanging in front of the main building were flapping limply, a testament only to the force of the wind.

He knew he looked like a drowned rat, he certainly felt like one but as he passed a store front he caught a glimpse of his reflection and was stunned by what he saw. As expected after his fall in the field and a night in the rain, his clothes were rumpled and dirty but what caught his eye was the bloody gouge that ran from his temple to the corner of his mouth. Gently he raised his hand to the wound. It was not deep but it was wide. He was going to be scarred for life. He counted on his looks to charm the ladies and influence people. Even a beard would not hide this. He was horrified.

A jab in the kidneys got him going again. He was in trouble. What were the odds that Garrison or any of the team was watching? What were the odds that they would look for him here? He was going to have to get himself out of this.

His arms were wrenched behind his back and a gun was jammed against his head just before the trigger was pulled.

Casino was cold and wet and he was lost. Where the hell was he and where were the others? They were supposed to be in Belgium. What language did they speak in Belgium? He bet it wasn't English. What the Hell was he supposed to do now? He trudged along the side of the road. Garrison had told them often enough to stay off the roads. Too easy to get spotted and picked up.

He approached the town cautiously. There was a farmer standing beside the building so he waited. As much as he wanted to find a dry place to get warm this was too risky. He was about to retreat when a whispered voice caught his ear.

"American?"

He waited. Obviously he had been spotted but was he supposed to trust this guy? The next words convinced him.

"Lieutenant Garrison has been captured. He needs your help."

"Who are you?" he whispered back.

"Wouters. Come, you must hurry."

The guy knew Garrison so either he was expecting them or he knew where he was. Casino had to trust him but not completely. He approached but stayed out of arms reach. He was no fool.

"Da Germans have captured your friends. Der is no jail so dey locked dem in da bank vault. You have to get dem out before dey run out of air."

Most vaults were not air tight but could he take a chance?

"Where is it?" He was led farther into town by way of back alleys. Eventually they reached the back of a building that had bars on the windows. This had to be it. The back door was locked but that was not a problem for him. His trusty spring steel….

was not there. He felt around with his tongue. It was gone. Shit. He had to find another way. He slipped around the side of the building. He was in luck. There was a garbage bin and a drain pipe. The roof would have access.

This was more Goniff's style but since he was not here he would have to do it. He climbed up onto the bin and tugged on the pipe. Would it hold? It had better. He had seen Goniff do this and it didn't look that hard. He grabbed the pipe and pulled. First foot, second, move his hand…

And he slipped, landing awkwardly on his hip. That hurt but he had to keep going. Again he positioned his hands and then his foot. He moved his hand then his foot, his hand… On he went up the pipe until he reached the roof. This was the hard part. Let go of the pipe and grasp the edge of the roof.

"Shit" he whispered under his breath as he pulled his hand back. His palm stung where something had cut into his hand. Automatically he looked at his hand but it was too dark to see anything. Had they used broken glass? How was he going to get past this? Tentatively he felt the edge.

He puffed out a breath in relief. There was just a broken brick. By moving his hand over a few inches he was fine. Gripping tightly he pulled himself up over the edge.

Moving slowly in the dark he found the ventilation shaft and eventually gained access to the inside of the bank. He was in. He found the vault where he expected it. A quick feel of the dials and knobs and he was in business. Placing his ear against the door he began turning the dial.

There was nothing, no sound at all. He tried the other knob but again there was no sound. What the hell? Maybe this was the wrong one. Maybe there was another safe. He returned to his search.

Yes, there was another in one of the offices. A quick tug, it was locked then ear to the door he tried again. There were sounds but they were all wrong. Something was happening but they weren't tumblers. He frowned and tried again. This was wrong. One more try before he returned to his search. This was ridiculous. He needed a light. Turning on a desk lamp and leaving the door open helped a bit.

Where the hell was the Vault? The bank wasn't that big. He stood behind the counter and looked around. Where was the damn vault? Down stairs?

It was cool and damp down here and dark. There had to be a switch somewhere. When he felt the wall, the toggle hit the cut in his hand and he pulled back sucking in a breath. Damn. Carefully he tried again and was rewarded with light. There. The vault was there but again it was an unfamiliar make. Must be some Belgian make. Didn't matter, they all worked on the same principle. A check of the handle and he set to work. He listened intently as the spindle turned catching the tumblers.

Tap, tap, tap. There was a sound coming from inside. Someone was tapping on the door. They were in there and they were alive. He redoubled his efforts but the tapping was intermittent interfering with the sounds he needed to hear.

"I'm coming. Shut up already." He knew they couldn't hear him but he was getting frustrated.

Goniff, unable to see the ground, had landed hard. Eventually he got his chute rolled up and hidden. Now where were the others? He looked around but other than the occasional flash, the darkness was complete. He listened but all he heard was the wind and the rain. Where were they? He was alone in a foreign country where they didn't even speak English. First get out of the rain and then food. A cuppa would warm him up. Which way? One was as good as another. What would the Warden do? High ground, even though they were acting like gangsters. In the pictures they always went underground. That had confused him at first. The Underground was the tube. In America it was to hide. 'Shut up, Goniff."

Yeah, that's what Casino would say right about now. He was blithering but that was because he was scared. And who wouldn't be? Out here in the dark, lost, alone…

He had to find the others or help of some kind. He walked slowly feeling ahead for something, anything to guide him. It was fortunate that he was doing so because his progress was arrested by a pull across his stomach. A fence. He had found a fence. One hand on the top wire to guide him he turned and followed the boundary marker. It would lead him somewhere, hopefully a barn or a shed.

Up ahead there was a light. Fire, a small one. A Camp fire? That meant warmth and maybe food. Maybe help… or Germans. Careful. He slowed slightly but continued to advance. There was no sound other than the wind. The rain had tapered off, not that it mattered; he was already soaked.

As he neared he crouched and watched. There was a small two-sided lean-to. Sitting inside out of the rain was a man sitting in front of a fire. He was not in uniform so that was good. Was he friendly? That was the question. The Warden would say stay away but he was not here and the Englishman was cold and wet and the fire looked so warm. Maybe he could slip around the other side and hide in the hay that was piled in the corner. There was a pack there as well. There might be food and maybe a blanket.

He knew the rain would hide any sound but he was taking no chances so he paid extra care as to how he moved. Around the other side all was going well. The stranger had not stirred. He eased around the corner and slipped inside. Three steps separated him from possible food, the lure was too strong and he moved. Just as he was about to open the pack there was a blur and a crack and his hand exploded in pain. He fell back clutching his hand that was screaming in agony.

The stranger growled something that he did not understand. Mind you all he could understand at the moment was PAIN.

Gradually it eased until it was centered in his fingers. He looked up to see the stranger standing off to the side. He was holding a large branch. Goniff looked down at his hand and screamed. His fingers were a bloody mess. The stranger had hit him across the fingers and from the pain, probably breaking them. He closed his eyes hoping the loss of the sight of them would help. It didn't. They still screamed.

Chief knew the ground was coming up fast but instead of landing he was jerked to a stop. That hurt. From the sound of the wind and rain lashing through the leaves and branches, he had to assume he was hung up in a tree. In the dark, he had no idea how far down the ground was so releasing the catches and dropping was risky. He waited but heard no other sounds of life.

Swinging his legs back and forth he set himself in motion like on a swing except he kept an arm out in front. He hoped to catch another branch or the tree trunk. He just didn't want to catch it with his face. There was nothing so he changed the swing direction to side to side. That got results except instead of finding the rest of the tree he heard the branch crack and he dropped.

Again he was jerked to a stop by the harness not the ground. How much farther? He tried bouncing as he reached down with one foot.

There, there was the ground, just out of reach. He released the catches and dropped. And fell, tumbling face first landing in a heap on the forest floor. Once he got his wits together he got his feet under him and he stood. With his first step he fell over the fallen tree he had thought was the ground. That was why he had fallen. Keeping one hand trailing the log he started walking until he reached the root ball. Where were the others? They had to be around here somewhere. They had jumped together but with this wind… He looked up but it was too dark to see. He listened as he pictured each one. He was alone but hopefully they were together. There was no way he could find them in the dark. He would have to find somewhere to hole up for the night. If it was dryer he knew that often there was a sheltered spot under the root ball but it was probably flooded now. He would have to look elsewhere.

The fallen tree, it wasn't flat. That meant the other end was propped up. Maybe if there was room… He backtracked until the log was hip high before he felt underneath. Yes, there was a space. Too bad he didn't have the chute. It would have made a good tent. He slipped under the log and nestled into the leaf litter. It was cold but he was out of the wind and rain. As he shivered he listened. Was the rain easing? It was hard to tell with the sound of the wind in the trees. He tried turning on his side so he could curl up but the log was not that wide. Either his knees or his ass was hanging out. He twisted around until he was on his back again as a flash lit the surrounding area and the thunder boomed almost immediately. That was close. He laughed to himself. Someone had said not to stand under a tree in a thunder storm. If the lightning hit the tree you could be killed. Well, he wasn't standing, he was lying. And there were other trees around. The lightning would hit those ones, not the one he was under. He was safe for now.

A sudden crack and the air lit with fire and sound. Chief's eyes instinctively closed tightly and his hands went to his ears scraping his knuckles on the log above. The light might have vanished but the after image remained burned into his retinas. The sound rolled and eventually was gone but still his ears rang. The pressure on his chest remained.

Eventually he opened his eyes and uncovered his ears. As he tried to lower his hands they met an obstruction, a large rough obstruction lying on his chest. He pushed but nothing happened, the weight remained. Something had…

The lightning. It had hit close. Real close. It had hit another tree and it had fallen onto the tree he was under. He had to get out. Cold and wet was better than trapped. He pushed harder. Bracing himself he tried to wriggle out but the rough bark gouged through his coat and into his chest. His heart was racing and he was beginning to pant. He wanted out, he had to get out. He was trapped!

A squadron of fighters flying overhead brought Craig instantly awake but it took another blink before he was sure where he was. He was in bed, in one of the rooms of the building where he and his men were billeted. He looked around the room. Everything was as it should be except…

There was a flight jacket hanging on the back of the chair. He blinked again. It was his jacket, he could see his name but since he was no longer flying, why was it there? And there was a tear in the sleeve and a dark stain around it. That brought a frown to his face and made his heart rate accelerate. Flipping the covers back he looked at his arm and saw the three inch long angry looking scratch. Sitting up, he gingerly touched it. It was fresh, just barely scabbed over. Another quick look around the room showed everything else as it should be.

His dream came to mind but dreams did not rip jackets. A chill went up his spine. That jacket was at the back of the closet when he went to bed. How did it get out here and what about the rip? He reached over and fingered the tear. That wasn't possible. There was no need to put the jacket on; he could see the tear and the scratch matched up. But how? What was going on?

The same sounds brought the rest of the team awake just before the Sargent-Major entered the room. "All right, lads. Everyone up," called out the Sargent-Major. Too bad none of the soldiers stationed here were buglers. Revelry would get them going. As it was he had to rely on yelling. Actor always woke when he entered; early riser that one. Casino and Goniff tried to ignore him but a kick at the bed leg usually did the trick. He had actually lifted and dropped the corner once so now they complied, not eagerly but they complied. Chief just eyed him. After what he had heard he was glad of that.

Each man was safely lying in his own bed, alive and unharmed. Goniff almost spoke but then remembered the date. It was the first of the month so instead of cursing the early wakeup he said "Rabbits, rabbits, rabbits."

Yer a day early," groused the safecracker." Tomorrow's the first. Still October, one more day."

"You sure? 'ey Actor?"

"Yes, Goniff," the conman answered with measured patience. "Tomorrow is the first."

"So, you really think that works?" asked Casino.

"I'm still alive, ain't I?" He was still alive but when he pushed himself up his hand felt funny like his fingers were numb. Swinging his feet to the floor he looked at his hand as he flexed his fingers. Yes they were intact but blimey, was that dream ever real.

Superstition, thought Actor. He did not believe in such nonsense. Gathering his things he headed for the bathroom. As he placed his shaving gear on the sink he was horrified to see the scar running down his cheek and his mind flashed to his dream. No, it was not a scar. He had slept on a wrinkle in his pillow case. There was no scar just a temporary crease. It would fade before he went downstairs. As his heart rate slowed to normal he soaped his shaving brush and lathered his face.

Casino grabbed his pants and winced as a twinge shot through his wrist. That was a sensation that occurred after he had spent a long time opening a tricky safe. A safe like… last… night. He looked around the room. Must have slept on it wrong.

Chief sat up as he swung his feet onto the floor. Absently he rubbed his chest and was surprised by the pain. He grabbed his undershirt at the neck and pulled it away from his chest. He looked down and saw the abrasions. He released it and quickly looked to the others. Had they seen that? No. Good. No one noticed but he saw Casino rub his wrist and Goniff flex his fingers. He said nothing, just finished getting dressed.

Due to the cold and the muddy conditions from the all night rain, Garrison had cancelled their morning run so all four tired men dressed and made their way down the stairs to the kitchen. Their only consolation was that their leader looked as bad as they did. Breakfast was eaten in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

It was Casino who broke the silence, a silence he found un-natural so he turned to the source or who should have been the source. "You're awful quiet this morning."

Goniff sat flexing his fingers. "'Ad a bad dream last night."

"Must have been a real bad one. You haven't said a word all morning. Other than your damn rabbits."

"What was your dream about?" asked Actor. Not that he really cared but here was a chance to see what scared the pickpocket.

"I 'ad just parachuted behind enemy lines. It was raining and lightning." He saw the looks on his team mates faces as they looked to each other. "What?" he asked anxiously.

"That is scary," said Casino sarcastically but there was a look of concern around his eyes.

"That's not the scary part. I couldn't find you guys so I started walking and I found a shed so I tried sneaking in but the guy saw me and 'e 'it me 'and with a branch. 'E 'it me fingers." He looked to his mates. "Me fingers are stiff this morning. I couldn't lift a wallet to save me life right now."

There was silence for a beat before Goniff spoke. "You're pretty quiet too. Storm keep you awake?"

"I wish it had, though I must of heard it. It was in my dream." Everyone was watching Casino expectantly. "I dreamed we got separated and when I got to the town, a partisan told me you got locked in the bank vault and I had to get you out." He reached for his knife to butter a slice of toast and winced as the handle pressed on his palm.

"What is wrong with your hand?" asked Actor.

Casino looked up; no one missed the concern on his face. "In my dream I cut my hand when I was climbing the wall to get in."

"And you have a cut on your hand," put in Actor drawing all eyes to him.

"Yeah." He tipped his palm so the others could see.

Chief's hand had gone to his chest when he saw Casino's hand. Actor saw it and asked, "You too?" Goose bumps were rising.

"I landed in a tree. It was too dark to see anything so I crawled under a log but lightning hit another tree and it fell pinning me.

"Is that what happened to your knuckles?" asked Garrison.

Chief turned his hand to look. Confusion drew his eyebrows together. "Yeah. The thunder was so loud I tried to cover my ears."

"I take it, your hands were all right when you went to bed?" he asked seriously.

Chief looked up and said, "Yeah." His was not the only worried look.

"And what about you, Actor?" Casino felt better that he was not the only one with a mystery but if they all…

"Yes, I too had a dream that I had parachuted into Belgium." He saw the look on Casino's face so he asked, "Your location too?" They all saw the nod. "I was captured and taken to the town where I was marched down the street. My hands were tied and a gun was put to my head."

"On this side, right?" asked Casino who was sitting to his left.

"My left temple, that is correct."

"You've still got the mark."

The look on Actor's face showed that he was aware of the mark; he had seen it while shaving but he did not have an explanation. His thought that he had slept on something like the crease that had thankfully faded but that was too unlikely. It was better than what everyone was thinking but still not acceptable.

There was an uncomfortable lull. Finally Actor turned to Garrison. If he was looking for an explanation he did not get it.

"I dreamed we were in an Aircraft. The plane was hit by lightning, killing the crew and we had to bail." He omitted the part where he was going down with the plane.

"I 'ad me fingers smashed," started Goniff as he massaged his hand, "and Casino cut 'is 'and, Chief scraped his knuckles. Actor 'as a bruise."

"We all have injuries that are tied to our dreams. You?" asked Actor.

"When I woke up this morning my flight jacket was hanging on the chair. There is a rip in the sleeve that was not there last evening. In fact, the jacket was at the back of the closet when I went to bed. I also have a corresponding scratch on my arm."

"Warden?" said Goniff tentatively. "What's going on?"

"You do know what last night was?" asked Casino taking in everyone with his eyes. There was silence so he answered his own question. "It was Devil's night." Actor looked puzzled but Chief smiled. "The night before Halloween is Devil's Night when kids go around pulling practical jokes on people, tipping over outhouses, egging your house…"

"Oh, right," agreed Goniff heartily before he sobered. "That doesn't explain it."

There was laughter around the table, maybe a little nervous laughter but it was enough to change to mood. By consensus they decided to let it go. A building this old was bound to have a few ghosts. Maybe they liked to play pranks too.

And a Happy Halloween to all.


End file.
